


Maybe Something, Maybe Nothing, Maybe Everything

by GallifreyGod



Series: Saving You Saved Me [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Discovery, Enzo's, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 12:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyGod/pseuds/GallifreyGod
Summary: "What are you saying." she churns the words out as the tunnel vision sets in. She replayed that night at least a million times in her head. At this point, she wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. She had closed her eyes, ducking her head beneath the podium so she didn't have to watch him die. She couldn't recall ever seeing a body either. Except, she played that down to just repressing the hell out of it.Owens glances at Murray again, some sort of unspoken conversation with only their eyes. "He wasn't there, Joyce," Murray replies solemnly.





	Maybe Something, Maybe Nothing, Maybe Everything

It felt sinful walking into Enzo's. Like she was spitting on Hopper's grave. She had stood outside, staring up at the sign of the restaurant for fifteen minutes before she had forced herself to go in. Still, each step hurt like hell.

Murray had called... and called and called and called. For weeks, really. After a while, she had stopped answering and instead just let it ring. It was better that way, it didn't matter if she was missing something important. 

But by the eighteenth call, she had answered. He found something. She replayed his voice over and over in her head, analyzing each word. "It's not good or bad, but it's _something._ " 

Whatever that 'something' was, it led her to where she was. Enzo's, eight o'clock, drinks only because for once in his damn life, he wanted to drink something other than shitty Russian vodka. 

It wasn't a date. God, she didn't want another date for the rest of her life unless it was... well, it didn't matter. 

She was allowing him fifteen minutes to explain his findings and then she would be going home. There were boxes to be packed, belongings to be decided whether or not to donate or keep. She was closing on her house soon, and then it would be over. 

God, please let it be over. 

The sepia ambiance of the restaurant made her stomach turn into knots as she walked in. She wasn't dressed to be here. She didn't _want_ to be here. Every seat in the place, it could've been where she should be sitting. Every face looked like his. Every voice sounded so familiar... he was everywhere. 

She clutched at the hem of her blouse, walking towards the maître d' podium. "Uh, it's under Bauman, I guess." her voice didn't sound the same in her ears anymore. It was deeper, thicker with a sense of pain that most people couldn't understand. Never _would_ understand. 

"Ah yes, Mr. Bauman is seated at the bar right now. Follow me," she could hear the caustic tone in the man's voice. Sheepishly, she slouched her shoulders down as she tried to hide from the bright yellow lights that shone down on her. 

She squinted as Murray came into her line of vision, sitting with a familiar face at the bar. "Owens?" she murmured, pulling both of the men's attentions. "What are you doing here?" 

They both gulped as she sat down on the barstool next to them, shaking her head when the bartender asked for her order. "I knew you wouldn't come if I told you he was here too, but you needed to hear this from him," Murray answered first. 

"Yeah, well... make it quick. El likes to watch Miami Vice on Fridays and it starts at ten," she responds begrudgingly. "What'd you find?"

She watches closely as both men flash each other a look. Owens sighs, setting his glass down on the counter. "I was there when they took the bodies out, Joyce." 

She flinches before she can stop herself. _Bodies._ It sounds so impersonal. That's what they become after death, right? Bodies. Owens had been the main man behind covering everything up. The destruction became a simple fire. The massive amounts of military personal became just the fire department. 

Like it never even happened. 

But it did. She was reminded of that every day. 

"I know most of them were burnt up and hard to identify—" he stops himself, seeing her squeezing her eyes shut as a sharp stabbing pain rips through her chest. 

"Just... spit it out."

"I checked every dental record, every single body we pulled out. Everything, _twice_." Owen's eyes turn into something more serious, a look she recognizes from when Will was dying.

She swears she can feel her heart stop beating right then and there. Her jaw falls slightly and everything goes completely silent. The lights become a dizzying array of blobs, bleeding into one another. 

"What are you saying." she churns the words out as the tunnel vision sets in. She replayed that night at least a million times in her head. At this point, she wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. She had closed her eyes, ducking her head beneath the podium so she didn't have to watch him die. She couldn't recall ever seeing a body either. Except, she played that down to just repressing the hell out of it. 

Owens glances at Murray again, some sort of unspoken conversation with only their eyes. "He wasn't there, Joyce," Murray replies solemnly. 

"It was like he just... _disappeared,_ " Owens adds. 

Joyce inhaled a shaky breath, trying to calm the electrified nerves under her skin. "Alright," she nodded, her voice sounding angrier than she intended it to. "Then where the hell is he?" 

"The Keys were connected, Joyce. One in Hawkins—"

"Are you trying to tell me that Hopper is possibly alive... and in _Russia?"_ the words are spit out as if there is poison on her tongue. Rage boils deep within her as she stares incredulously at both of the men sitting silently in front of her. Is this a joke?

Murray stirs his glass in his hand, watching the liquid spin. "Alexei was working in Kamchatka on the other Key. All we know is that Hopper wasn't found in the aftermath of the destruction. Not a single shred, not even his clothes." 

The nausea in her stomach feels like it's rising through her chest. Processing each word seemed impossible, like her brain was trying to jump through hoops to get a grasp. "What now?" she chokes out, squeezing her eyes shut in hopes that the room stops spinning. 

"We find him."

**Author's Note:**

> #HopsNotDead


End file.
